


Unexpected Gifts

by NotRyanRoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angel Wings, Character Death, Child Abuse, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Violence, FTM Castiel, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Original Character(s), Sabriel - Freeform, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:45:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotRyanRoss/pseuds/NotRyanRoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dean finds something he didn't even know he wanted, in the form of a tiny half-angel child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It didn't even sink in to Sam at first.

He'd been sitting in the bunker, reading about something or other when the knock sounded. He glancec at a nearby clock and noted that it was midmorning, which was odd. And, who the hell knocked on the door? Not Dean, who was out on a solo hunting trip at the moment. He'd said something about a wendigo wandering the sewage system in New York and had been off in a screech of tyres before Sam had gotten a word in. He couldn't find himself minding that much, though, because he really needed a break at the moment. It was nice to just sit and catch up on the latest episode of _Friends._

He didn't actually like _Friends_ , funnily enough, despite having watched three seasons in two days. And the only other thing on video that the Men od Letters owned was this weird puppet show called _Sesame Street._ He didn't understand the giant yellow bird, and he didn't understand why people thought the two brothers, Bert and Ernie, were gay. They were just hanging out, he reasoned with himself, not thinking about that time in July with Dean and the panties.

But anyway, back to the knocking. He'd sworn not to talk about the panties scandal, after all. So Sam turned off the Cookie monster, got up and peeked outside, and there was Castiel, in all his trenchcoated glory. He studied the windswept angel, noting the dark circles under his eyes and the tired, flat line of his mouth. Nonetheless, he was pleased to see him. He smiled and stepped aside, allowing Castiel to enter the bunker.

"Cas, hey, what's up?"

Castiel looked stressed, moreso than usual. "Sam, I am in need of...assistance."

"What's up?"

He glanced around but didn't see any threat, although that meant nothing. There could be something he couldn't see, but...Castiel didn't seem hurt. He just looked like he hadn't slept in a month. Which was weird, because he was under the impression angels didn't sleep anyway. This was all a little strange, to say the least.

"I need you to...watch something for me," Castiel said.

"...okay?"

And Castiel stepped aside to reveal a tiny, unkempt boy of about twelve or so.

"This is...Ryan," Castiel said, looking hesitant.

The boy didn't react to his name being spoken, just stood there with his wings ruffling in the faint breeze. And oh lord, were angels taking younger vessels now? _Children?_ Why was Cas allowing this? And why were the angel's wings out? Castiel never let his wings out at all, bar that first time they'd met, and even then it had been a shadow. Sam felt his stomach drop down to his feet. Was Cas really asking him to look after an angel who'd stolen the body of a _child?_

But Ryan didn't sound like an angel name, so he didn't say anything. Just looked at them sort of suspiciously, taking note of the kid's wary stare focused on him and the way Castiel was sort of leaning over Ryan protectively.

"Say hello," Castiel prompted him.

"...hi," the child said distantly, staring at the ground.

Something was off here, something Sam couldn't quite put his finger upon. Why was Cas putting him up for babysitting an angel? Angels didn't need watching. The kid didn't look injured or hurt or anything, if a bit messy-looking. Surely he could take care of himself? But...did angels have children?

Sam knelt down to look up into the small boy's face and nearly fainted.

Ryan had a baggy black hood and jeans on, which was a little strange for an angel and set off the first warning signals in his brain. Sam recognised the logo on the sweater as a punk band from 2000. He was quite thin, almost painfully so, and short, like everything had gone into those messy grey wings (and weren't angel wings supposed to be black?) folded against his back like a protective cloak. His hair was curled down on one side over the right of his extremely pale face, dark as anything and tufty, sticking up in places oddly in a way that was so painfully _Castiel_ it was unsettling.

All of this was a little suspicious. Was this Cas' brother or something? That idea made the most sense, even though Castiel had never mentioned an actual relation up in heaven. But even if it was, they wouldn't look alike, because angels didn't have physical forms. Just vessels. Sam inwardly grimaced. Maybe it was his vessel's kid? But then he wouldn't have wings.

Who _was_ this kid?

But that was the moment when Ryan met Sam's gaze with pale green eyes rimmed with dark liner that made the irises look luminous in the afternoon light, that was it. It all clicked into place.

" _Oh,"_ he whispered.

Castiel shuffled behind the boy, like he was nervous. He probably was. Because those were _Dean's_ pale green eyes watching him with a worried sort of apprehension. The expression was different, but the angle and sharp focus of them was what made it so obvious that this was the child of Dean Winchester and Castiel standing in front of him.

"Holy shit," Sam said finally, motioning them inside and closing the door.

The little hooded figure of the angel paused for a moment, then nodded to himself and wandered away sort of absently, and Sam got caught up on the way the small boy moved, because it looked like the fluid movements Dean used, plus the rustle of wings. Castiel stood there watching him, as usual, but the light patter of Ryan going down the stairs quietly was disturbing. Sam turned to Cas and they stared at each other blankly for a few minutes before Sam spoke, hesitantly.

"Is he really...?"

"Yes, he is." Cas looked quietly resigned.

"Oh," Sam said again.

Because he was an _uncle_ now, and to an angel who he currently was being given custody of. A tiny little angel boy with eyeliner on and ridiculously messy hair and wings. He'd decided a long time ago that he didn't want kids of his own due to circumstances, but this. This was almost like finding out he had a kid, because...that was _Dean's_ kid, in all his about-five-inch glory _._ And Dean's kid was...his kid, basically. Winchesters stuck together like glue.

"I did not want to bring him here, but I have business in heaven and he cannot accompany me," Castiel said.

"But he's an angel, right?"

"He is in enough danger in my company as it is."

"I've got it, Cas. I'll watch him," Sam replied comfortingly, patting the angel's shoulder.

He didn't really have it, but Castiel must be in trouble if he was willing to leave his....son here. And Sam wasn't going to say it, but beyond the shock of the situation, he kind of...wanted to get to know this kid. Even if Dean wasn't here, and had Cas known that? After all, how long had the angel not told them about Ryan? Why was he hiding the fact that...that Ryan was a Winchester?

Castiel deflated almost visibly. "Is Dean..."

So he didn't know after all. "He's out. Should be back in a few days."

"Good, good. I will be back before then."

"Cas..."

"Yes?"

May as well hit the nail on the head.

"Were you planning on telling Dean he has a son?"

Castiel smiled ruefully. "No."

Then he left, and Sam was alone with his nephew downstairs doing God-knows-what. And saying that felt unsettling. His _nephew._ He didn't know what to do with it, with the kid he was supposed to be looking after. Dean was the one who was supposed to be good with children, after all.

He went down the stairs quickly, looking around, and found Ryan perched on the edge of the dining table, staring off into space in a very Cas-like way, and he felt a pang of affection for the little angel. This kid was going to be an experience. He made his way over to him and sat down by the boy's jean-clad knee, although in a chair. Ryan's eyes flickered over to him immediately like he was expecting to be chastised for his seating choice and he started again at the similarity to his brother.

"So, Ryan?"

"Mm? Yeah, what's up?"

That was different. His voice was completely unique, a warm, alert sort of drawl with some unique accent to it. Not to mention the fact he used slang to address Sam with, which indicated Castiel wasn't his only influence. He seemed uncomfortable,  but not incredibly so, and Sam tried not to stare too openly at the twitch and stretch of those dirty mottled wings in favour of small talk and finding out more about the new member of his family. He wondered what John would say, if he were here. Probably something about Ryan's eyeliner.

"What...um, what's your accent?"

"Australian, mostly. I grew up there."

Wow. Australia?

"Um, can I ask how old you are? I mean, you look-"

"This body is around seventeen."

"Is it a vessel?"

"In a sense. But no, I didn't possess it."

"But....how?"

"I don't know. No one does," Ryan replied.

Sam pursed his lips and sat back, thinking. What was he supposed to say? What was he supposed to do? Mostly he wanted to call Dean and beg for him to come home, but he couldn't go against Castiel, as much as he wanted to. And Cas didn't seem to want the older Winchester and his son to meet. Ryan seemed to pick up that he was uncomfortable and offered a faint smile, digging in his hoodie and pulling out a couple of DVDs from somewhere.

"Would you like to...watch a movie?"

Ryan said the words hesitantly, as if he'd already accepted rejection and the idea that Sam didn't want to spend time with him. Sam noted the hunched position of his lithe shoulders, the way he shifted away from him, and something nudged at his brain. A vague memory from his childhood, if you could call it that. And Jesus, this kid was almost a splicing of Dean and Cas, wasn't he?

He smiled at Ryan. "I'd love to. What are we watching?"

The little angel pulled out a particular title from his small collection of disks and slid it towards him. Sam scanned the title and short description and nodded. It just looked like your run-of-the-mill action movie, and anything was better than _Friend_ s at this point. _Scott Pilgrim vs. The World_ would do just fine, especially if it broke the ice between himself and Ryan so they could discuss his story further, and Sam could figure out how he'd missed seventeen years worth of this kid's life.

"Do you want to go and turn it on? I'll go get drinks."

"Okay."

He lifted his hand to give the boy a thumbs up, but the movement was obviously too sudden because Ryan flinched back like Sam had made a fist. Once his startled gaze alighted on the thumb and he realised it wasn't an attack, he gave an awkward laugh and hurried over to the television. Sam went into the kitchen and immediately pressed his face against the cool metal of the fridge, letting out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. That flinch, the flinch that Ryan had when Sam drew close was exactly what he'd seen from Dean when they were younger.

When John Winchester used to beat his brother.

_"Hey, Dean, guess what I-"_

_A younger Sam Winchester stopped in his tracks at the sight of his older brother on their shared bed, knees drawn up to his chest protectively._

_He'd come in originally to present his report card to Dean, proud of his results and searching for approval for the A in biology he'd recieved, which he knew he wouldn't get from John. It seemed more like Dean was raising him, sometimes, and he felt a pulse of disdain for the oldest Winchester. His father barely showed at the hotel rooms anymore, or the houses where they spent a month or so. He was so caught up with revenge on the demon that hurt part of his family that he couldn't look after the other half._

_The problem wasn't in the report, though._

_It was in the dark, mottled bruise stretched across Dean's pale cheekbone. Sam felt the blood drain from his face and he looked fearfully around the room for some kind of threat, but it looked like whatever had done that to Dean was gone._

_"What the hell happened?"_

_"Nothing. Go away, Sammy."_

_Dean turned away from him, and he looked almost curled up on himself protectively on the edge of the ratty, motheaten bed they shared due to money issues. But that's impossible, because it was Dean, it was his fearless older brother with an obsession for rock and the aim of a sniper. Sam was taken aback by this, because Dean barely left their residence, how could he have gotten that mark?_

_It was so dark, and there was splashes of yellow and green edging down to his jaw and up under his eye like a rainbow._

_Then he realised John wasn't there._

_He was gone, and Dean was hurt._

_"Dean," he said softly, feeling his stomach dropping down to his feet. He dropped the report card on the filthy, stained carpet and drew closer to the older boy, seating himself next to his brother and trying not to feel hurt at the way Dean drew back a little so their shoulders wouldn't touch. He was just nervous, anyone would be._

_"I'm so sorry, what happened," he tried._

_"Nothing," came the flat reply._

_Sam went to pat his shoulder, going in for a hug, when it happened._

_Dean flinched away from him like he was diseased. And Sam would've been hurt, he felt a pang in his heart, but it wasn't because of the clear rejection. It was because he'd seen Dean's expression morph into something that looked far too much like fear and distress. And he didn't want his brother looking like that, ever._

_"I'm so sorry, Dean," he mumbled._

_Dean didn't reply. And he wouldn't talk, not for another week._

Sam snapped out of it when the rustle of wings sounded closer and Ryan peeked around the corner, green eyes curious. It was so strange how much like Dean he was, despite the two of them never having met. His expression was one of nonchalance hiding worry, something he'd seen before on other people. Sam smiled at him weakly and opened the fridge door, peering inside. May as well do what he said he was going to do.

"We have Dr Pepper, Coke, water, milk, and coffee," he said.

Ryan looked contemplative. "...I like Dr Pepper," he admitted.

Sam retrieved two cans of the soda and held one out to Ryan, watching as the angel hesitantly took it and cracked the tab, jerking a little at the sudden hiss it made. Then he glanced up at Sam and took a sip, closing his eyes briefly at the taste. Sam noted the shadow of the eyeliner around his eyes again, and wondered where he got that from. It certainly wasn't a Winchester trait. He cracked open his own can and stepped past Ryan, pausing to make sure the boy was following before returning to the television. The little angel trailed after him and perched on the edge of the couch, wings pinned against his back.

"...Ryan, can I ask you a question?"

"Is it offensive?"

"What? No!"

Ryan looked sort of ashamed. "I'm sorry, I...that was unnecessary. What's your question?"

"Why are your wings always out? I mean, I've never seen any other angel...you know."

"...I," Ryan began, an awkward and obviously fake smile on his face.

"It's okay,you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"No, it's okay. Because I have some human blood, I can't put mine away. They've always been a part of me, it's like having an extra limb."

"Wow."

"I guess."

Sam pressed play on the movie, and he noticed Ryan settle into the cushions some more, his wings spreading slightly. Now he looked closer, they weren't just one shade of grey, they were flecked with silver that shone in the light and black that speckled the underneath of his wings. He wondered if Dean had wings, whether they'd be that gentle silver or something more gaudy. He'd personally put his bet on gold, or something of the like.

They quickly fell into silence when the movie started, the only sounds being the cans clinking and the occasional shuffle of wings on fabric. Sam found himself caught up in the movie, in the cliche sort of romance you could only find in cinema, in the character's woes and the plot progression. He didn't even notice anything else until something brushed his elbow and he nearly jumped out of his skin. But when he looked down, it wasn't a spider, just the edge of Ryan's wing. He let out a breath and looked up to the boy's face and realised he was asleep.

"Oh," he whispered. He seemed to be doing that a lot.

There was an angel kid asleep on his couch.

Sam went to go and get him a blanket, stealing a comfortably, fluffy one from Dean's room and draping it over the boy, tucking the material so it didn't touch his wings. It didn't seem like he'd want them confined. And jeez, they were messy. Not in a dirty kind of way, just in the way where all the feathers were pointing in different directions. Like they needed preening like a bird or something.

And, what was that?

Sam looked closer and saw jagged edges where his secondary feathers were supposed to be, and he nearly stopped breathing.

Because someone had _clipped_ Ryan's wings, and not well. He knew from veterinary practices that there was a way to trim wings, and this certainly wasn't it. It looked like someone had just hacked at them as crudely as was physically possible.

"Oh, God," he said, too loud.

Ryan twitched in his sleep and opened one eye, only enough that a thin slit of green was visible. He made a confused, sleepy noise and buried his face into the blanket, curling up further. Sam let out a sigh and patted his head, petting the soft curls gently before standing. It didn't matter where Ryan had been before this right now, because he was here and he was safe. He'd known the kid for a few hours, but in his mind the little angel was already part of the Winchester family, and Sam would protect him.

He turned to leave, to go to his own room and leave his nephew to sleep in peace, but a tug on the sleeve of his shirt made him stop and look back. Ryan didn't say anything, just gently pulled at him again. Sam smiled at him gently and let himself be guided down onto the couch again. The angel didn't snuggle up to him or anything, just shifted closer and closed his eyes again.

Sam patted his hair again and settled back onto the couch, not minding in the slightest.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel had failed in his journey to protect his son.

He stood by the burning ruins of the place that had housed the small angel that was his son for many years, and watched as two charred and broken bodies were removed from the wreckage and placed in black trash bags. Castiel was glad the bodies had burned; in the state they were in beforehand, there would have been a federal investigation. The situation had been labelled by the authorities as an accident with some faulty wiring, and Ethel and Robert Hastings had been written as casualties. Their adopted daughter, Rose, was missing; assumedly deceased as well. The police had surveyed the land and decided there was no need for further investigation into the matter, due to the fact there were more pressing cases at hand.

"I'm so sorry," he said to the unlocked phone loose in his palm. He'd saved it from the wreckage but hadn't returned it to its rightful owner, keeping it on a whim. He didn't look down at the bright screen, at the photograph of his son smiling cautiously with a young blonde girl wrapped around him. They looked so _happy_ there, even if Ryan wasn't smiling, and there was a dark bruise high on his cheek. There was something in his eyes that he'd seen in Dean, a kind of contentedness beyond all the things they'd been through.

He hadn't wanted Ryan to be part of this.

Ever.

His vessel had fallen pregnant shortly after he and Dean had first begun engaging in sexual activities, the thought of it not occuring to Castiel because he was an angel. The relationship itself had started a few months after he had risen the older Winchester from the Pit. It was nice. Simple. Angels didn't underdstand the idea of a temporary relationship, something that wasn't necessarily commitment for life, but Castiel reveled in it. Unfortunately, he had overseen the fact that his vessel, Jimmy Novak, had been transgender, and still possessed a uterus.

Castiel had full intentions of annihilating the child before it was birthed, realising that it would likely be a Nephilim, and as such an abomination. But as he kept putting off the abortion, it occured to him that maybe he didn't _want_ to kill it. He kept the information from Dean, even then being ultimately very protective of his child. It was strange, because Castiel was not one for unnecessary attachments, but this small, winged being in his womb was _his._ And he could tell, could tell in his heart that his son was not a Nephilim, he was something else. Something new, whether due to the fact that he was the son of the vessel of Michael or something else entirely, this child was going to be different.

_The pregnancy had been short, and surprisingly painful, and Castiel had finally collapsed in a small logging town in Western Australia. To his chagrin, the nurse at the hospital had cheerfully taken his son from him, explaining that she was going to wash off the blood and bring the child back. Castiel didn't quite understand why that was the most pressing issue right now, but he was tired enough to accept the assistance without complaint. When the nurse returned, she seemed to want to converse with him for some unknown reason._

" _It's a girl!" Had been her first sentence to him._

_Castiel blinked down at the tiny sleeping angel. "How do you know?"_

_The nurse's smile faltered. "I'm...I don't understand?"_

_Castiel didn't reply to that, slipping the towel his child was wrapped in down enough so he could study the pale shoulderblades. He had guessed correctly, and ran a gentle finger down the downy silver feathers that protruded. He smiled at the faded colour, somewhat delighted at the shine and arch. The wings looked strong, and he was faintly reminded of an Archangel's, although there was only one set. The child continued sleeping, and the nurse gave him a rather fake smile._

_"She's rather small," she offered hesitantly._

_Castiel frowned. "No. This is fine."_

_The nurse sighed. "What's her name?"_

_"That is for the child to choose, I imagine."_

Castiel ran a thumb over the picture again, looking down at it. A small smile curled at his lips. And the child had chosen, as Cas had known he would. He'd left his child, knowing it was safer to keep out of harm's way, but unknowingly putting them in worse danger. Ethel and Robert had been nice people, if a little old-fashioned, and had difficulties conceiving a child of their own. Ethel loved children with a passion, and Robert was affectionate if a little distracted.

He'd misjudged them, and his son had paid for it.

To: Sam  
From: Ry (Mobile)

_Please make sure he removes his chest binder before he sleeps._

_And thank you._

###

Sam awoke with the smell of some kind of fruit up his nose and Ryan's hair brushing his chin where he'd slumped onto Sam sometime during the night. He laid there for a few moments, letting the events of yesterday bleed back into his conscious mind before he stood, gently shifting Ryan to the side. The angel didn't wake, just snuffled and shifted his wings so they were curled around him and fluffed slightly. Sam gave it the ghost of a smile before he turned to what had woken him up; his phone. He didn't recognise the number, but the message was so obviously from Castiel he didn't even question it.

Wait.

Chest binder?

He glanced at Ryan from the corner of his eye, reevaluated the fey tilt of his face and the slender curve of his hips, and sighed. God, this kid had gotten the bad draw in life, hadn't he? First the child of an angel, then the presumed abuse, _and_ the gender identity? He felt a pang of sympathy, thinking back to when he'd lived with a transgender man for a while at Stanford. Thinking back on it now, at least he had the background to understand Ryan's predicament.

Sam knelt next to him and patted his shoulder gently. "Ryan, hey," he said softly.

It took a few moments, but eventually those green eyes met his and Ryan yawned at him and his wings fluffed some more. Sam smiled at him, because that was far too cute to be legal, and sat back a little.

"Morning," he greeted the angel.

"Hi," came the sleepy reply. "'s'up?"

"I didn't want to wake you up, but Cas sent me a message telling you to take off your binder?"

Ryan's face closed off immediately.

"Hey, it's okay. Why don't you just loosen it for now," Sam said hurriedly.

Ryan gave him a doubtful look.

"Really," he assured. "But you have to be careful, rib damage is a real problem."

His nephew let out a long sigh and unzipped his hoodie, slipping it off and reaching up the side of his shirt. There were a few quiet clinks, and then he let out a relieved noise. Sam echoed it, glad that he was considered safe enough to initiate binder removal. That being over, he stood again, turning off the television they'd left on last night, and made his way over to the fridge. Ryan shuffled around behind him, and he could hear the boy move around briefly before it went silent again. Sam turned and looked at him for a moment before speaking.

"Feel like breakfast out?"

"Sure. Where're we going?"

"There's a diner in the town over that has pretty decent waffles," Sam answered.

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Do you want to change your clothes or anything?"

"I didn't bring anything with me," he admitted.

Sam pursed his lips thoughtfully. The smallest person around here was Castiel, but he never left any clothes here, and Ryan still looked far too small anyway. What was he, 5'3"? And he was so slender too, like something elven from a fantasy novel. Sam wasn't even sure why he was so small, because everything else about him screamed either Winchester or Castiel, but this delicate little figure was nothing like any of them. It didn't look like malnutrition or anything, either, just that he was actually that small. It was odd, to say the least. He looked down at his own muscled figure, then back at his nephew's with faint amusement.

"We'll find some new stuff while we're out, okay?"

Ryan nodded in agreement and made his way up the stairs.

He'd settled in fairly easily for someone who'd been randomly shoved into the care of a stranger. His whole attitude was a little easy-going, if wary; far more like Dean than Cas, and Sam was a little suspicious of the whole matter because if Castiel had been spending half of his time here, and some up in Heaven, when had he had the time to raise a child, especially one with both human and angelic needs? Sam had never heard of angel/human hybrids, and he got the feeling they weren't known for a reason. The thing was, Ryan didn't act like an angel. Without the wings, he could've passed as a normal human being. So, that begged the question;

_What had Castiel been doing with his child for the past few years?_

Sam stopped.

"Hang on," he said.

Ryan turned and looked at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Your wings?"

The angel waved a hand dismissively.  "People think it's a costume."

"...really?"

He chanced another stare over the curve of Ryan's slender shoulder, looking at where the folded downy wings were settled against his back. He wondered if the angel had to cut slits in all his clothes so his wings could breathe. The sweater he was wearing now had jagged cuts that revealed a lot of his back and clearly had been done in a hurry, without much finesse at all. The wings themselves didn't seem like anything fake at all, probably because they weren't, and as he watched they flattened a little and Ryan's expression became faintly irritated. He was reminded of the time he tried to protect Dean from a rabid dog when they were kids, and the way he'd reacted really negatively to being 'babied', as he had called it at the time.

"It's fine. Really. Anyway, I can't help it."

Sam pursed his lips, but nodded. Ryan probably knew about the wings better than he did. "Alright, let's go."

Ryan gave him a smile that probably wasn't supposed to show that much relief. If he was anything like his father, he'd learn to hide it better later, so Sam was going to savour these little tells he had while they lasted.

Sam smiled at his back.

###

"Stop laughing," Ryan grumbled at Sam. "What's wrong with flannel shirts? You're wearing one right now."

Sam just laughed harder.

His messy-haired nephew grumbled incoherently in his general direction and stuck the shirt on top of the couple of jeans he'd grabbed. And that was the best part. The eyeliner had been misleading; Ryan had picked out jeans, sleeveless hoodies, and flannels. And that was it. That was all he'd shown any interest in, when faced with a mall with millions of choices of apparel from Abercrombie to Gap and about ten credit cards at his disposal. Sure, they were in variants of grey and black, unlike Dean's blues and greens, but...definitely a Winchester. Definitely.

Sam snickered.

"Come on," Ryan muttered, stalking down an aisle with his wings fluffing up slightly.

Sam followed him, his laughter fading a little. God, he wished he could show Dean his son so _badly_ it almost hurt. They were so uniquely alike and yet so different that it'd be the experience of a lifetime to have them in one room, interacting. He wondered what Dean would do, if faced with this small, messy-haired version of himself. Probably he'd be angry at Castiel and ignore the kid for a few months out of spite, which would cause his son to detest him. He looked up at Ryan, a few meters ahead of him, and realised his hair wasn't black as he'd first thought, but a dark shade of brown that had chestnut highlights in the early morning sunlight.

Sam glanced to the side of the shelf he was next to and saw shelves of makeup. He glanced back at Ryan, who was further up and studying rows and rows of ties with idle interest, and looked back at the stock. He didn't know the first thing about makeup except what Jess had told him, and he could hear her voice in his head now complaining about cheap eyeliner as he selected an upmarket brand liquid one and slipped it under the pile of shirts in his hand. The Jess in his head seemed satisfied with his choice and silenced immediately, making him wonder whether _Gabriel_ wore makeup at all.

_Hot_.

###

"Ryan, can I ask you something?"

The youngest Winchester glanced at him and shrugged. "Sure. Shoot."

"Where were you, before this?"

"Told you. Western Australia. Small town. Middle of nowhere."

"No, I mean...did Cas live with you?"

"Why would Castiel live with me?" Ryan shot him a frown.

"...because...he's..."

_Shit. Does Ryan not know who his fathers are?_

_Fuck._ "So," Sam began again weakly, "who'd you live with?"

"My foster parents. They...looked after me."

_Then why do you sound so bitter?_

"Are they the ones that clipped your wings?"

Ryan turned to him sharply. Ironically, his wings flared out behind him in a manner probably intended as a defense mechanism. Even stretched out, they only went halfway down his thigh and nowhere near as wide as they would've been if they were intended for real flight. He'd figured out they worked much in the way a small bird's might, responsive and fragile. Unfortunately, they just emphasized Sam's questioning, because the clipped, jagged feather ends were revealed to him in all their glory, and Sam winced.

Ryan's eyes widened slightly in realisation of what he'd unintentionally done and his wings folded back against his back, flat like he was trying to hide them. Or like they were trying to disappear into the back of his hoodie, which wasn't working that well. He took a step away from Sam, eyeing him like the man was going to take a bite out of him or something. Sam didn't move an inch, and Ryan deflated slightly, ducking his head and edging towards the door. Which was on the other side of the car they'd used; on Sam's side.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," the angel said shortly as he stalked past Sam towards the door.

A single feather floated down the air current where Sam was standing in the garage, and he watched as the little flecks of silver caught the light. It was pretty but small, a downy little piece of fluff likely from the underside of the wings, and it landed on the hood of the Impala silently, the shimmer fitting in with the shine of the car itself. They kind of went together in a strange way, and Sam was stuck with the imaginary image of Ryan and Dean working on the car together, covered in grease and laughing as Castiel watched them with amusement from the sidelines. It was a nice dream, Sam mused as he picked the feather up from the Impala's hood and twirled it in his fingers.

Wait.

The Impala?

Dean had taken his pride and joy along with him when he went hunting.

Which meant that Dean was-

And Ryan had just-

" _Shit!"_

Sam dashed after Ryan, hoping helplessly that maybe Dean was asleep, or he'd gone for a walk or something equally ridiculous but perfectly timed. Maybe he'd gone to a bar and taken a motorcycle? Or he was on a trip that Gabriel had sprung on him randomly like he had the habit of doing. Sam wished as he ran and burst through the door in time to see his brother level his gun at Ryan, who was frozen, staring with wide green eyes, Dean's eyes, filled with fear and shock and a weird expression that looked a little like resignation as he realised he didn't have time to dodge the gun. Especially  not with a trained hunter holding it.

"No!"

Sam didn't think.

He just shoved his nephew aside with all his weight, knocking Ryan aside and to the wooden floor as Dean squeezed the trigger, hearing the shot ring in his ears as a blast of pain started burning sharply in his body. He dropped to the ground next to the scared angel boy, ignoring the blood seeping into his clothes as he pulled Ryan close to his chest, his heart breaking slightly at the frightened little sobbing sounds reached his ears. Other than the scare he'd been given, Ryan seemed physically okay. Sam let out a huff of relief and pulled the angel against him protectively.

"Don't...hurt him," he said to a shell shocked Dean, still pointing his gun, before he passed out.


	3. Chapter 3

"So you have like, a Heaven radio. In your head."

"Other angels do. I ignore them, they're assholes."

"Yeah? Why're they assholes?"

"They're like robots. No personalities, no fun."

"Sad."

"Yeah. I take it you don't have it in that brainy head then?"

"Nah. The only thing playing in my head is My Chemical Romance."

"Not bad. I prefer the 1975 myself. Favourite album?"

"Hmm, well, Revenge was the best vibe-wise, but Black Parade had the best songs overall."

Sam awoke to the quiet murmur of conversation around him. At first he thought it was a dream, but he didn't know a thing about whatever was being talked about. He didn't open his eyes, using his ears and body to note the fact something soft and warm was wrapped around his left side, and something cooler and firmer nearly prodding the right side of his ribcage. It was nice, however, warm and calm, and he was content to lay there in this warm bubble of heat until he drifted off to sleep again, to just let the comfortable waves of sleep envelop him again. But that was when he heard Gabriel's familiar snicker and a returning dry snort that sounded almost familiar as well, but also... _not_.

When he opened his eyes, everything was a little on the blurry side and he struggled to focus on the shape that had settled underneath his arm. He eventually lighted on a soft, sweater-clad body with the soft plane of one tan cheek on his chest. He took one look at the honey brown of the hair that was slightly sticking up like a cockatoo at the back, and wished he felt awake enough to take a picture. It was so rare they had time to just sit. Or lay, as it may be. But he'd missed his boyfriend, and he squeezed him a little with one arm and wished they could stay like this forever, because it was nice. Because Gabriel had to pretend to be dead, which meant he didn't get to see him that often. He had the urge to make the Archangel take him on a date, with flowers and chocolate and everything.

"Gabe," he rasped instead.

The angel in question turned his bright gold-brown eyes over to him and grinned. The irises themselves were swirls of caramel and gold, but there were rings of dark green on the edge that made him look fae from this close. "Hey there, Samsquatch. How you feelin'?"

"Fine," Sam replied. "But-"

_"No! Don't...hurt him_ ,"

"-how?" There was no way Gabriel could have gotten to him in time, and he'd felt the bullet rip through his ribs, piercing at the very least his left lung for sure. He was certain he should be sore at least, if not on the brink of death, but all he felt was a trace of fatigue at the back of his mind and faint worry, and he had to work hard not to go back to the gentle clutches of sleep.

Gabriel's grin seemed to brighten in intensity. "You've got yourself a little hero. Seems like I've got competition."

"No thanks," came a wry tone from the other side of the bed. "He's not my type."

Sam followed his gaze to the other side of the bed, where Ryan was kneeling gently, his knee nearly brushing Sam's chest. The smaller angel offered him a weak smile in return, the shadow of his wings shuffling behind him quietly as per usual. Sam smiled up at him, trying to disperse the stress he could see in Ryan's pale face, or at least, the half of it he could see. Somewhere in the time he'd been dead to the world the angel's fringe had gone from curling near his eye to curtaining it. He had the urge to brush it behind his ear or complain about how he was going to go blind if he did that, and had to make himself stop. He wasn't Ryan's dad. Or his brother.

Ryan looked away before Sam could say anything. "Did...did it...do you feel okay?"

"I'm fine now, Ryan," Sam assured gently, sitting up and dislodging Gabriel from his chest with a grumble from the older angel. He shifted a little, stretching his limbs out gently, and yep, everything was in working order. "Thanks for saving my life."

"Yeah. You're...uh, yeah, you're welcome."

"He's a cutie. Can we keep him?"

Sam smacked Gabriel upside the head as the smaller angel let out another snort.

"I don't think so," Ryan said dryly as he stood up, tugging one of the drawstrings of his hoodie. Sam blinked up at him as he stretched out his legs and stood. He still didn't look very big, even looming like this, and he offered them a tight smile before he left the room quietly, the warm spot next to Sam the only indication he'd even been there in the first place. Gabriel let out a sigh and Sam echoed it loudly as the door clicked shut. They sat in silence for a moment, the Archangel taking the pause to seat himself in Sam's lap and snuggle. Sam wrapped an arm around his waist and returned the kiss he recieved.

"So that's Dean-o's kid."

"Yup."

"He's got interesting genetics. Not a nephilim."

"What is he, then?"

"A Winchester."

Sam didn't reply, and Gabriel closed his eyes briefly.

"I'd like to teach him stuff- he's already questioning me about angel things, but I doubt Cassie's going to let him near any of us after this. If he's been hiding the kid from us for this long, we're probably going to get our asses kicked for this calamity."

"Does he...did anyone tell him Dean was home?"

"Nope. Haven't seen hide nor hair of him, and it's a good thing too."

"Where's my brother?"

"Lurking around somewhere. Ryan threw a carving knife at him when he tried to separate you two."

Sam couldn't help but laugh softly. "Why? Dean would never hurt me intentionally."

Gabriel opened his eyes to fix Sam with an oddly serious look. "All the kid knew was that he walked in and this guy shot at him and nearly killed you. He doesn't know about your incestuous brocrush on each other."

Sam sighed. "I'd better go talk to Dean, I guess."

Gabriel nodded against his chest. "It took me hours to convince him Winged Winchester wasn't a threat."

"Did he hurt Ryan at all?"

"Other than the scare he got, nope. I stopped your psycho brother before he could. Nearly punched him, mind you."

"Thanks."

"Anything for my little...what is he, a cousin? A nephew?"

"Both?"

Gabriel laughed. "I think he's going to be more our kid, to be honest."

"Maybe he'd be safer if he was," Sam replied grimly.

###

Dean sat at the table with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and tried not to glare at the winged being with the unruly hair as it walked past him to the bathroom. No one would talk to him and tell him exactly who this weird kid with the healing power was, or why it was in the bunker- which was sacred ground, not for some stray. When he'd said as much to Gabriel, who had told Dean to leave his brother and the kid together for a while, he'd received anger. From Gabe. Sam's boyfriend, trickster and Archangel, had just given him an absolutely furious glare when he'd asked: "Who's the emo and why is it buddies with my brother? What is it? Do we need to stake it?"

He didn't understand.

Gabriel hadn't answered his questions, however, and Sam was still out of it, so that left the source of his confusion. He still wanted to kill it, but he wasn't so sure now- the way Sam had pushed it out of harm, the way it had healed him with a flash and what looked like pain in its' eyes. Those were human traits. The water from the bathroom stopped after a few minutes and the feathered kid returned to the hallway, pausing for a split second when it saw Dean but continuing walking as if it knew what bravado was. He was almost impressed, except for the fact that thing was the reason his brother got injured in the first place. He couldn't understand why Sam would take a bullet for it. What was this thing?

"Hey."

The wings stiffened slightly and it turned its head fractionally to eye him. Dean almost felt a chill, because those weren't black demon eyes or blue angel eyes or really _anything_ supernatural, they were just pale green. Like his.

Like a human's.

"Come here." It wasn't an invitation.

The small being blinked, looking guarded as it took the few steps to the table and stood cautiously opposite Dean. He noticed one pale hand drifting to the waistband of its pants, where it was storing a serrated knife from the kitchen. Dean took a moment to mentally laugh at the way it was trying to look brave even though its feathers were twitching and it was so, so small. Not much of a threat to anyone, let alone him.

"Sit down," he instructed.

It settled on the arm of the chair across from Dean, tilting its head to the side. It was listening, at least, which was more than you got from most dangerous things. Then again, if it had free reign of the bunker it obviously wasn't too dangerous. He stared at where its hand laid on the knife's handle and eyed it until the kid moved those pale fingers to sit in its lap instead.

"What are you?"

"My name is Ryan. I'm-"

"I don't care what your name is. What kind of monster are you and why do we need you?" _Ryan_. Kid was kind of pretty in a weird way, with smudges of eyeliner still around alert eyes and hair curling slightly at the ends. It reminded him of someone, somewhere. Probably a girl, that one from Ohio maybe.

"I'm-I'm not a, a monster? You mean like a vampire or something?"

"You're not human." Dean lifted his gaze to where the edges of those fluffy grey wings had settled like a protective cloak.

"No..." came the hesitant answer. "I'm part angel. Apparently."

"A nephilim?"

"No. Not a...whatever that is."

Dean leaned forward, getting a small thrill from the way the kid inched away. "Why did my brother take a bullet for you? Are you doing some weird three-way sex thing or something? You're not Gabriel's replacement, because he's still here."

Ryan looked appalled. "Fucking- no! I'm seventeen!"

"You look twelve, actually."

"Well, I'm not." It gave him something close to a sneer, and Dean had the peculiar sensation of looking in a mirror. He brushed it off. Maybe it had a little more life in it than he'd originally thought. That made it...interesting.

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm being babysat," Ryan said flatly, offering no real explaination.

"Right."

Dean poured himself another heavy drink, signalling that the half-angel was dismissed without having to converse with it again. From the corner of his eye, he saw Ryan shoot him an angry glare and stand again to his full five feet, stalking past a confused-looking Sam and up the stairs to go outside. He heard a flutter of wings a few seconds after that signalled that Gabriel had followed, and took a sip, savouring the burn. All this was beyond him. If they were killing it, Sam wouldn't have saved it. But if they weren't in a relationship, why would his brother have jumped in front of a gun and risked death for it?

"I don't understand why you needed to save it," he said to his brother blankly. "It's just a freak of nature. What's it do?"

Sam was silent for a few minutes, and then spoke, his voice quiet but stern. "Maybe you should give him a chance. He's a good kid."

"Whatever."

Sam gave him an extremely disapproving look and followed the other two upstairs.

Dean took a large swig, straight from the bottle.

###

When Sam walked out the door to the road, he was greeted with the sight of dappled gold and silver-tinged sunlight everywhere.

"Wow," he said to himself.

Immediately his eyes went to Ryan, whose own wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Gabriel's hulking golden wings. He'd only chosen to reveal one set this time, the biggest, set in the same place Ryan's silvery grey ones were. Gabriel had his stretched out but in a gentle way that showed the underside of his wings. Ryan's were fluffed but folded still, his attention completely on staring dumbfoundedly at the Archangel's wings. Gabe huffed out a laugh and folded them at his back, feathers trailing the ground, before he approached Ryan and said something to him quietly before chuckling and tugging on one wing gently. Sam expected the younger angel to back off or give him a barbed comment, but he obediently stretched out the wing Gabriel had touched, the sun catching the flecks of silver.

What wasn't lost to the eye was the shabby attempt at clipping. Sam saw Gabriel flinch at the sight of it, a sympathetically pained look on his face that Ryan couldn't see as he directed the smaller angel around to sit on the leaf-scattered ground. The younger male just crossed his slender legs neatly and obeyed. Gabriel nodded and procured a couple of stools from nowhere, sitting down on one and directing Ryan's left wing to his specifications. Ryan seemed to be amused by it, following the orders exactly as he rolled his eyes. When Gabriel was happy with the position, he turned and beckoned Sam over.

As Sam sat down on the stool next to his boyfriend's, Gabriel waved a hand at Ryan's wings. "Look at this!"

He looked. They appeared to be the same as yesterday. "...yes?"

"They're a mess!"

Sam glanced at the mussed feathers. "...yes," he repeated.

Gabriel let out a long-suffering sigh. "They need preening, Samsquatch."

"Preening? Like...a bird?"

"Yes, like a bird, you twit," came the barbed reply. "Except not at all like a bird."

"What do you want me to do?"

Gabriel sighed again. "It's the job of the family to preen each other's wings."

Ryan didn't bat an eyelid when Sam glanced at him, staring absently off into the distance. His hands were twitching, fingers turning a steel band on his right ring finger idly.  It looked like it had a feather pattern imprinted on it, and Sam wondered what significance it held. While he was thinking, Gabriel grabbed one of his hands and settled it on the curve of his nephew's wing. It twitched under his hand and he was struck by how alive it felt, lighr but firm under his palm. He stroked a hand through the feathers, glancing at Ryan's face to check that it was okay and just seeing a calm, blank face.

"It's alright, we have it ingrained to relax when people touch our wings. It's a hormone thing," Gabriel added, running his fingers through the bottom of the wing and loosening a some downy fluff that drifted away in the breeze. The older angel nodded to himself, smoothing down some of the primaries. Sam watched him and then attempted to copy the motions, freeing some down and loose grey feathers into the wind. That is, until he noticed the bent feathers. They were right near the top of the wing, twisted at the base so they were unfixable, but still firmly stuck in the skin.

"Gabe," Sam said softly to get his attention.

Tawny-gold eyes slid over to him and noticed the damage immediately. "I think...you're gonna have to pull them out, Sammich."

"Pull them?"

"He's not going to be able to fly with them. Just...tug. You're a man."

Sam felt nauseous. Sure, he'd pulled out splinters, bullets, but not this. This was equivalent to cutting a finger off. "Can't you do it?"

"No," his tone had become aggravated.

Sam smoothed the feathers next to the bent ones, cringing every time he felt the wings move. Gabriel watched him silently, one hand winding with Sam's free one and linking their fingers together tightly. He accepted the comfort, noticing the older angel resting his other hand on Ryan's back gently and petting. Ryan just relaxed his shoulders a little and leaned back, eyes firmly shut as Sam's fingers found the base of a twisted feather.

Then he yanked.

Ryan flinched visibly, whipping his head around to eye them both dubiously, but that wasn't so much the problem as the way his wing immediately smacked Sam in the face. "Ow," he said, the word muffled under the wing that was still flat against his face. He patted at it and Ryan folded it against his back again, squinting. 

"Sorry," they both said at the same time, Ryan's sort of grudgingly and Sam's completely honest.

Gabriel waved a hand at them. "There's more than one feather, Sam. Get to it."

So he did.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean continued to cause problems for his son during the next day.

Sam had been reluctant to leave Ryan alone, even to sleep, but Gabriel had told him bluntly that the small angel would be fine. His wings, now back in some semblance of order, could fly him a couple of meters at a time, and because he wasn't an angel as such, the sigils didn't bother him so he could leave the bunker if needed. So Sam hesitantly allowed his nephew to wander about at night, realising he probably didn't need much- if any- sleep. When he snuck out of his room at an ungodly hour of the morning for a drink, he saw Gabriel and Ryan sitting on a couch together, his boyfriend pointing to something on a page and the smaller enraptured by whatever he was saying.

It was in the morning, when Dean arose, that the problems began.

Ryan had drifted off at about eight, snuggled against Gabriel's shoulder with his wings wrapped around him. Every now and then his wings would fluff unconsciously, and his angel boyfriend would get a faceful of grey and silver down. Sam smiled at the scene, trying not to laugh, and got a face from the Archangel, who was trying to silently eat a cupcake. He didn't realise Dean was awake until a loud crash a meter away made them all jump, Ryan especially, whose wings flared and nearly catapulted him from the couch. Wide green eyes peeked over the back of the couch apprehensively to meet their counterparts, and Dean blinked innocently.

"What?" He said. "I just dropped a gun box."

Sam eyed him suspiciously, because Dean wasn't that clumsy, but decided not to confront him about it.

Except, he did it again.

The second time Sam was introducing Ryan to the wonders that was Dr Pepper, which seemed to interest the small angel. He didn't show any sort of interest in all the bottles of alcohol littered around, had wrinkled his noise at the cheaper brands like he knew exactly how crap they were, and went hunting for soda. Sam was interestedly watching Ryan's nose wrinkle at the taste and half-reading a Men of Letters article on Nephilim when the second loud crash echoed around. Sam glanced at Ryan, who had flinched visibly, and was now twitching nervously, and then turned to glare at Dean.

Dean knew exactly how to agitate the boy, always making the noises and crashes sudden and directly behind Ryan so he didn't expect them at all. And the majority of what he dropped were from the weapons stash. Stakes, guns, knives...even a broadsword, at one point. And he did this continually throughout the day, seemingly enjoying Ryan's scared little jumps no matter where in the bunker he was, so bad that by late afternoon the small angel had given Dean a helpless, frightened yet angry glare, and disappeared. Sam assumed he'd gone outside somewhere and wanted to follow, but felt like maybe he needed a moment to calm.

Gabriel had lasted about a minute after the little angel had left before slamming Dean up against a wall by his neck, snarling at him. Dean couldn't fight back against the strength of a fully-powered angel, especially the Messenger of God, but still struggled halfheartedly. Sam caught a line of threats, _I'll kill you forty times over and send you back down to Hell, would you like to go back to that, Dean-o?_ before he settled a hand at the back of the Archangel's neck, making him pause. They exchanged a conversation through their eyes, Gabriel letting out a defeated huff and storming down the hall, slamming a door. Dean rubbed at his throat and coughed.

Sam didn't feel much sympathy. "Why do you keep bullying Ryan?"

"Don't know what you're talking about."

"You keep making loud noises and creeping up behind him and dropping deadly weapons near him! You're _frightening_ him, Dean!"

"Whatever. Can he even die?"

"Have a little respect! Surely you know what it's like!"

"Know what what's like, Sammy? He's a monster."

"He's not a monster,he's just a kid. He's human too, Dean. He's scared because _he thinks you're going to hit him. He's an abuse victim."_

When the words burst out of him Dean's eyes widened fractionally, just enough to reassure Sam that the older Winchester wasn't actually trying to be malicious. Thankfully, there was an immediate connection in his brother's head that was almost visible, the notion that the little winged thing was scared of him, and expected abuse from him. And if there was one thing he never even touched, it was abuse, especially to kids. His life had been too rough for that. Dean opened his mouth, thought better of it, closed it again. He'd clearly just grouped Ryan in with the rest of the angels he didn't know, using a varied amount of teasing and bullying. He'd seen a weakness, and exploited it. 

"I'm not going to..."

"He doesn't know that. Christ, Dean, all you've done is attack him since you got here!"

"..."

"He's just a little kid. And he's mostly human."

"..."

Sam sighed. "I don't know anything about his family life because he won't tell me, but..."

Stony silence.

"Dean."

"No one will tell me why he's here! All of a sudden, there's this weird kid, and Gabe's reading to him and you took a bullet for him and he _looks like Cas."_

Sam blanched. "I, uh..." he stalled. Oh _God._ Did Dean know?

Dean let out a heavy sigh and pushed past him. "Whatever."

Sam watched him go.

###

Dean found Ryan sitting on a low-hanging tree branch outside the bunker.

The teen had been peacefully sitting, book in it's- _his-_ lap. He didn't look like he was reading it, was just letting the dappled sun that trickled past the leaves touch his skin. He had his chin tipped up towards the light, in a content movement Dean himself had seen in Sam on the occasions they got a break. It was...oddly peaceful, bordering on cute if he was completely honest. It was strange, but now Dean looked, there was something in his behaviour that was a lot like Sam and it made his heart lift for a few fragile seconds. And if the kid looked like Sam _and_ Cas...no. Gabriel wouldn't let that happen. And Castiel wouldn't lie to him.

When he sat down on an admittedly uncomfortable tree root underneath Ryan, he saw the kid flinch away from him again. Startled green eyes met his and then he got a scowl for his efforts. Kid was acting like a wounded animal trying to protect itself even though he was basically powerless against Dean. If you looked for it, you could see shadows flickering in his eyes like the eldest Winchester's had when he returned from Hell. And now Dean was looking for it, he felt kind of...no. He didn't do pity, like, ever.

Dean huffed out a breath. "Hey."

Ryan didn't say anything in return.

"Look...kid," Dean started, but the angel didn't seem interested in whatever he had to say, those jade irises catching the light and going a shade of gold as he looked away. His wings- _wings!-_ puffed up a little at the top, catching the light and shimmering a little. He looked at the kid expectantly until he got a reaction, which involved Ryan slipping off the tree branch with little to no grace and eyeing him.

"If you want to kill me that bad, go for it."

It was the weakest goddamn bluff he'd ever seen, and it broke Dean's heart a little. Most angels were proud, fearless soldiers and pretentious assholes, but he could see Ryan's hands shaking by his delicate legs and the way his eyes glared at Dean like he could burn through him with dislike alone. Not to mention how utterly defenceless and small he looked in a green flannel that was too big for him and black skinny jeans.

"I'm not going to kill you," he answered with a frown, the only answer he could think to give.

Ryan's wings twitched visibly, flaring. "Then what do you want?"

"I..." he couldn't just apologize, it didn't work like that. He didn't even know if the younger would accept remorse. "I wanted to..."

Ryan blinked slowly, squinted at him with some element of wariness like he was still expecting violence, but had guessed what he was trying to say. They were silent for a moment until the boy grunted and decided he wasn't worth it, and turned to leave, seemingly bored with the conversation. Not that it had been much of a conversation in the first place. Unable to come up with anything to actually say to the kid, Dean watched him go. Oddly enough, he was dragging a finger along the wall as he went. He wondered if that was some kooky thing kids did nowadays or if it was just this one.

Ryan made it past the door and slipped out of view, leaving Dean with the book he'd left out here. He looked up at where it was balanced on the branch and hit the trunk of the tree so it fell neatly into his hands. He spent a few minutes feeling extremely clever before he turned the book over and looked for a title. It was harder to find than he'd first thought; seen as it was a journal rather than a novel. _R. W-N,_ it said in a tight scrawl. The book looked aged, but not old, like it had been around for as long as the kid had, and Dean's stomach dropped and plummeted to the concrete with a thunk.

R. W-N.

_Fuck._

Ryan Winchester-Novak.

Winchester-Novak. Even with dread climbing so high up his throat it hurt and he couldn't breathe no matter how much air he sucked in, Dean's numb fingers still pried open the pages, noting the scribbles in the margins and the messy, nearly illegible writing down the paper. Ryan's handwriting was always in black pen, always nearly unreadable, always a faint echo of the few times Castiel had written down something for Dean himself. He wasn't taking in any oxygen at all as he began reading a page at random, scanning the looping words edging around the clean, white paper. 

_-parents, he punched me today and it hurt so much - noticed - stopped writing on - not real, surely - just need HELP-_

"Fucking hell," Dean muttered as he read, dread increasing.

_Tuesday 7th September_

_-told me they weren't my real parents today, that I had to be babysat because I'm too weak to be anything but a burden to the great Angels of the Lord. Arguing would have gotten my ass kicked. Already have four bruises on arms, one on jaw and three on shins. People asking questions, especially teachers. Can't tell them the truth. If I'm an angel I should be able to escape, but apparently I'm also an abomination and part human. And my wings don't fly. If that's the case, where is my human parent?_

_Dead?_

Dean slammed the book shut with a loud slapping noise and stared down at the cover, breathing hard.

"Fucking _Sam,"_ he said, rage bubbling at his throat.

###

Sam hadn't been expecting it when Dean came storming back inside and socked him right in the nose.

Ryan had returned a few minutes ago quietly, a faintly amused look on his face as he wandered into the kitchen looking for snacks, wings ruffled by the breeze and containing a few odd leaves. Some detached from the neat shadow of feathers and swivelled down to the concrete floor silently. It was kind of cute. Gabriel had retreated to some corner of the bunker to steam in silence, and hadn't shown his face in a while, suggesting he'd probably holed up somewhere with a box set of American Horror Story. Sam himself had been reading more books on the Nephilim, trying to figure out all those little quirks the kid had and what they did. Not to mention that healing spell.

He'd greeted Dean with a simple, "Hey, man. What's up?"

And then there was a crunch that sounded suspiciously like his nose breaking and a flash of white-hot pain and he was staggering away from a furious Dean.

"What the _fuck?"_

Dean's eyes were bright and pale green, almost luminescent in their anger. He stared down at Sam silently,  and threw a book down into his lap with so much force that Sam covered his junk protectively on reflex. He then continued his judgemental stare until Sam picked up the book and turned it over to read the neat writing in the corner of the cover.

_R. W-N._

He immediately made the connection and stood up, sitting the book on the table and facing Dean.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before," he said quietly.

Dean's eyes flashed and Sam was slammed up against a wall. "How _dare_ you," he snarled against Sam's ear.

Sam winced as his spine hit the concrete. "Cas didn't want me to tell you, I thought he'd be back before-"

"What?" Dean was still snarling at him, lip curled, "Why the _fuck_ would you keep this from me?"

Sam knew he'd be angry, sure, but why was he taking it out on _him?_ "Dean, it's not my-"

"I cannot _believe_ that you would parade your little lovechild around in front of me! What does Gabe think? Or is he in on it too? I wouldn't be surprised if he was."

"My-" Sam coughed out a laugh. Of course his brother would run to the most devastating option and break his heart over it. "Dean, no. Ryan isn't my kid, you jerk."

Dean took a step back, frowned. "Then what-"

And that was when Ryan puttered past them with a ridiculously large slice of pie in his petite hands, setting it down on the table and beaming at it like it was made by God himself. To add insult to injury, he was humming the base line to Smoke on the Water. Sam saw the shift in Dean's expression as the realisation hit him like a ton of bricks. Ryan just carried on with what he was doing. He didn't really notice the elder Winchesters staring at him, one with blood gushing in a steady stream from his nose.

Of course, when he turned he did see them, and frowned in a very Cas-like manner at Dean.

"You have issues, dude," he said in a faintly chastising manner that had obviously fake bravado to it at Dean as he reached up with some effort to pat at Sam's nose, trying to heal it but mostly just bumping it with his fingertips. After a few painful seconds Sam winced and knelt down a little bit against the wall so Ryan could settle his hand over it more gently, and half-closed his eyes to heal it. Finally, a faint silver glow erupted from his pale hand and Sam felt his nose realign itself. Ryan's wings puffed out in something that looked a lot like pride as he nodded to hinself.

"Thanks," Sam said.

Ryan shrugged. "Next time, dodge the hit."

The smaller male eyed Dean when Ryan noticed that he hadn't moved in the last five minutes. "Is...er, is he okay?"

Sam drew his shoulders up in a shrug. To be honest, he had no idea how Dean felt about having a kid, especially one with an angel. He couldn't judge much from his brother's expression, wide-eyed at Ryan's petite form standing near him.  
The half-angel himself stepped a little closer to Dean, tilting his head up so he could see the elder's face.

Sam just felt a pulse of surprise at the contrast of the two and how different they actually looked while still being similar; Dean's delicate, almost _pretty_ facial features were taken to a whole new level when you added a frail little body to it. Dean's eyes were paler than Ryan's, whose were more of a grass-green that looked luminous. The hair was completely different, Ryan's longer and curling and dark, Dean's sharp and golden brown and short. Looking at them the way he was now, though, Sam could imagine Dean with wings. They wouldn't be grey, though, he thought. After all, if Castiel's were black and Ryan's were grey, logically his brother's would be white.

"I'm sorry," Dean said suddenly, looking for all the part like he was about to cry.

Ryan frowned at him. "I'm...? What brought this on?"

"I just-" Dean huffed out a heavy breath. "I was a jackass."

The smaller Winchester blinked, frowned deeper. "Okay, sure. You're sorry. You were a jackass."

"I-"

"No chick flick moments," Ryan said to him absently, patting at Dean's chest as he wandered past to collect his abandoned pie, taking a giant bite as he made his way down the hall.

Sam let out another laugh at Dean's shellshocked expression. "I cannot _believe_ how much like you he is."

Dean's gaze softened slightly. "Nah. He's more like Cas."

"No," Sam said with a smile, "he really isn't."

Dean returned his stare back to Sam. "What do I do?" The helplessness in his voice was evident.

"Maybe start with not being a jerk?"

"Bitch."


	5. Chapter 5

Luckily for all of them, Ryan was more perceptive than either Castiel or Dean (who were both kings of obliviousness) and didn't mention the heartfelt apology he'd recieved from the older Winchester. Although every now and then throughout the course of the day he'd find the young boy watching his biological father with a mixture of gentle amusement and something similar to Castiel's unnerving stare. Sam couldn't quite figure out what it meant; but it wasn't directed at him anyway. He supposed it was something for Dean to work out for himself.

Sam found Dean sitting out of the bunker by the door, watching Ryan wander about in the dead leaves outside. At first, Sam had assumed Dean was out here for some other, important reason, but. He was just perched on a slab of concrete with a beer, surveying the landscape and the tiny half-angel fluttering around in it as if he'd never seen leaves before. It was strange, because Dean never really stopped doing things, but here he was, eyes holding an amused light as a rabbit pranced by his son. Sam sat down next to him as Ryan's started flapping sent up a small tornado of leaves around him.

"It's like watching a five year old," Dean said to him absently, taking a swig of his beer.

"He's probably only five or so," Sam replied thoughtfully. "When I asked him, he said his body was seventeen, not his age."

"But that's his body? He didn't, like, steal it, right?"

Sam shook his head, crossing his ankles together. "It's definitely his. I think it might be the angel genes, accelerating his growth."

Dean made a humming noise and set his eyes back on his petite son, who was nervously batting at a large orange leaf that fell from the tree above him. The leaf swerved in that way leaves tend to do and landed on his nose, and immediately it crackled and turned black. Ryan watched the dead leaf fall to the ground with something close to disappointment. Dean frowned.

"Is that...normal?"

"To kill a leaf?" Sam lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "I mean, I've never seen an angel do it before."

Dean pursed his lips. "I've never seen anyone do that."

"It's just a leaf," Sam answered.

"It depends on his subconscious feelings about whatever touches him," Gabriel said, appearing in Sam's lap abruptly and settling himself comfortably. Dean flinched and swore at him. Sam looked thoughtfully at Ryan, who had found a bird looking for worms and was watching it intently, ignoring them all. Hell, he probably didn't even know they were all there.

"His subconscious feelings?"

Gabriel looked up at him, nipped at his jaw playfully. "What his human brain tells him, his grace- or whatever it is that is his battery- reacts," he said.

Gabriel slipped off of Sam and waved a hand at Ryan, who waved back sort of cautiously and pattered over to them. His hair had gotten longer in the last couple of days again; the fringe was curling past the smooth angle of his jaw. Sam couldn't see any stubble, though- clearly he hadn't had hormone treatments recently, if at all. Did hormone replacement therapy work on half-angels? God, Sam hoped so. He wondered if they could obtain some of the stuff for him,  surely Gabriel could pull some strings to make it easier for them.

Gabriel hit Sam on the head with his beer bottle.

"What the _fuck?_ " Dean reared away, kicking the bottle out of Gabriel's hand. The bottle rolled away without incident, but that didn't stop Sam's pain.

"Look," Gabriel hissed, pointing to Ryan.

The little angel-hybrid was staring, vibrant grass-green eyes wide and shocked at what had just happened before him. Sam was wincing, holding one hand to what was already swelling up into a large and painful bruise on his temple. As Gabriel and Dean watched, he shifted closer and reached out his pale hand to touch at his forehead. And sure enough, the pulse of silver light flowed from his palm to Sam, glowing once before disappearing and leaving behind no bruise.

"Wow. That was impressive, thanks," Sam praised.

Ryan gave him a smile, his cheeks colouring a little.

"Hey, catch," Gabriel said, tossing the beer bottle in Ryan's direction. He flinched away, but the bottle glanced off his jean-clad knee and the brown glass warped and shrunk until it was an unrecognizable hunk of brown. It could have been anything; Ryan's subconscious had considered it a threat. Gabriel put his hands together in a golf clap, and Dean turned a furious stare onto the archangel. Sam noticed Gabriel paling slightly at the look on Dean's face, although it was hidden behind a wall of arrogance.

"Don't throw things at him," Dean snapped.

"I bet even if you were dying, he wouldn't be able to heal you," Gabriel sneered, only loud enough for Dean to hear. "You'd end up like the bottle. He'll never love you. Just because you like him now he's your blood."

Dean punched him in the mouth.

Ryan flinched away from the scene erupting a meter away from him, and Sam could see the faint fright in his expression. He wasn't delicate, not really, but Sam could tell he'd seen something before this that made him scared of violence. "Hey," he said softly, and those intense eyes turned to him, "let's go back to the bunker, okay?"

"Okay," Ryan said in a small voice as Gabriel laughed.

"Do they not like each other?"

Sam shrugged. "They both grew up violent. They're just...letting off steam  the only way they know how."

Ryan was quiet for a few minutes, picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his shirt with his wings fluffing behind him, and then looked up at him sheepishly.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you when you asked about my wings before, in the car when we were shopping," he said quietly.

To tell the truth, between Dean's pissy attitude and being shot in the shoulder by aforementioned brother, Sam had forgotten about that completely. There'd been a lot of crap going on in between everything, and he'd forgotten the minor fight they'd had.

" _My foster parents. They...looked after me."_

_"Are they the ones that clipped your wings?"_

_"You have no idea what you're talking about."_

"You don't have to-" Sam started.

Ryan shook his head.  "I was an asshole. You were just curious, it was unfair."

"It's okay, it's a sensitive subject for you," Sam replied gently. It didn't go over his head that the half-angel wasn't actually telling him about his home life in this conversation. Clearly it was indeed, a very sensitive subject, so he didn't even attempt to broach it again, even if Ryan had apologized for his earlier frostiness. Seeing as how he acted like Dean often enough, Sam worried he'd start pushing him away if he tried. He smiled hesitantly at the dark-haired boy instead.

Ryan smiled faintly back and looked down at the floor, and that's when Dean barged in through the bunker door with a clang of metal and a screech of hinges. Gabriel didn't follow, so Sam could only assume he'd gone elsewhere to cool off. The younger Winchesters watched as he stomped down the stairs grumpily, blood leaking out of his nose slowly. Sam checked to see if Ryan was having any negative emotions towards the fight, and he looked a little unsettled, but okay. Dean's aggression could be somewhat intimidating, but since his apology Ryan seemed to understand it was simply his personality.

"Hey, kid," Dean directed at the half-angel.

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"We're going out," Dean said firmly.

"Why?" Sam beat his nephew to the chase.

"Because," Dean sighed, "we're taking him to the optometrist, getting him glasses so he can actually see what's going on."

"Why-"

"How did you know?"

Dean gave him a tight smile that wasn't particularly happy, just kind of worried. Sam's heart lifted a little. "The way you always navigate with your hands rather than your eyes."

Oh. Looks like Dean _had_ been watching closely, even Sam hadn't picked up on that one at all, he'd simply thought it was another of his quirks. When he thought about it more carefully, however, he'd seen Ryan react more strongly to auditory sensations, like the noise frightened him but not the sight. Sam looked over at Ryan, who had an odd expression on his face that was a mixture of resignation and wariness. The wariness seemed to be brought on by the subject, however, not Dean's abrupt need for a road trip. Ryan's wings flattened a little against the grey flannel of his shirt, before he nodded hesitantly.

"I'm not adverse to it," he said, folding his hands together in a very Castiel-like way.

"Right. Car's in the garage, the decent one," Dean instructed. Ryan nodded and disappeared down the hall.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean looked defensive. "Is it a crime to want to spend time with him? He's my goddamn _kid._ I've been deprived of years of parenthood, give me a break, Sam."

Sam raised both eyebrows.

Dean wanted to be a parent? Then again, the way he'd acted with Ben and Lisa spoke aeons about that. The adamant way he'd protected them, the way he'd attached to the kid _like_ Ben was his, only to be ripped away from them and then, years later, get his own half-angel kid? He didn't act like it, but Sam knew Dean sometimes wanted out of this life as much as he had. _This_ , though, this was both worlds colliding into his lap.

"You know where the optometrists is?"

Dean nodded. "Thought we could get pie too. You coming?"

_Are you coming because you don't trust me to look after him?_ The words weren't said, but Sam heard them like Dean had been shouting them at him. It was a challenge.

"Nah," Sam answered. "I'm gonna look for a hunt. There's been rumours of a vampire club in Vegas."

He didn't miss Dean's grateful look.

###

"So, eyeliner, huh."

Ryan shrugged. "Problem?"

"No."

The problem was, Dean thought to himself as he switched lanes, was that the kid was just as defensive as he himself was. Whenever he tried to start a conversation about anything to do with the half-angel himself, he was immediately rebuked. Ryan didn't seem quite sure how to talk to him about anything, preferring to stare out the window absently with those dark-rimmed eyes gazing at the nature whipping by. The worst part was, it reminded him of Castiel.

_It had been one night that had turned into two, three, seventeen._

_Dean had started it, oddly enough._

_"Dean, I," Castiel tried to speak but with Dean's lips pressed hotly against his throat it was nearly impossible for him to get anything coherent out. The first time had been desperate, Dean ripping off Castiel's coat, jacket and unbuttoning his shirt, running a gentle thumb down the odd scars on his chest. He couldn't think of anything that might have caused them, strangely enough. It was almost like they were from some other cause than hunting._   
  
_"What're these from? Surgery?"_

_"They're- do that again- Jimmy's_."

_Dean shrugged a little and slid further down, tonguing at a nipple. Castiel shuddered against him almost violently as he bit down gently, hips bumping against him in an aborted motion. It seemed involuntary, like his body had taken over and Dean just found that hot as hell, had to do it again, and received a whimper. Cas's fingers wound into his hair carefully and tugged impatiently, and he chuckled against the leanly muscled skin, brushing the scars._

_After, he'd asked again._

_"So...your vessel was...y'know," he started._

_"No, I don't know," came the flat reply next to him._

_He'd had to tread carefully here, because he knew Castiel didn't feel offended at anything, didn't understand, but Jimmy still deserved some respect. It was his body, after all, despite the fact he'd been destroyed along with Castiel by Lucifer earlier in the week. He just wasn't sure how to tread here._

_"He was... trans?"_

_"Ah," Castiel said with a note of comprehension, and rolled onto his side so he could fix Dean with those too-blue eyes. "Does that bother you?"_

_"Cas, I just fucked an angel. I think we're past any gender boundaries," he said dryly._

_"He was a male," Castiel said._

_"Okay," Dean replied. He'd honestly thought it would bother him...but it didn't. Cas with ladybits was still Cas, was still a guy._

He knew the minute he saw his son, of course, that he was in the same predicament as Castiel's vessel had been. He didn't quite understand why the kid still indulged in some feminine habits, but he wouldn't say he _cared_. The kid could do whatever he wanted, he was the only percieved half-angel, half-human hybrid in existence. He could probably wipe them all out. Dean was at a loss, to be completely honest. He didn't even know what a Fall Out Boy was, or why it was on the kid's shirt proclaiming to save rock and roll. Did rock and roll even need saving? AC/DC was still going strong, even now.

He sighed and switched the radio on, and immediately One Direction starting blasting from the speakers of the Impala. There really was no accounting for taste these days. Was there _any_ appeal to these men at all? He grimaced, but not before he noticed the utterly disgusted look on Ryan's face that pretty much mirrored his thoughts on the boy band.

"Ugh," the half-angel said.

"Ugh indeed," Dean said with a hint of pride. Good kid.

Ryan reached over to switch it off again, and pulled out a beaten-up mp3 player, taking out the headphones and turning on the brightly-lit screen. Dean glanced at him with idle curiosity as he clicked about on it with focus, finding the things he wanted and setting the device down gently as it began the first few riffs of something loud. Please don't be country, please don't be country, please don't be country.

Yes. Dean breathed a sigh of relief mentally as a rock beat started up.

"What is this?"

Ryan's smirk was straight out of Dean's smug look catalogue. "My Chemical Romance."

###

"She said, "You ain't no son of mine for what you've done," Dean belted out.

Ryan answered in a Jersey accent matching the singer. "They're gonna find a place for you,"

"And just you mind your manners when you go-oh _oh_!"

"And when you go don't return to me, my love!"

"That's right!"

"Mama, we all go to Hell," they sang in unison to each other as Dean pulled into the mall.

"You have taste, I have to say," Dean conceded to the smaller Winchester as he got out the car.

Ryan's eyes brightened considerably and he grinned at Dean, happiness almost radiating off of the half-angel in waves. Well. That was...regrettably cute. No child of his should be that freaking adorable, seriously. Dean couldn't resist smiling back as he led the way to the optometrist, Ryan trailing along behind him almost as if he'd been trained to walk behind and not beside people. Dean swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat and turned slightly, pausing in his step.

Ryan looked at him with a question in his eyes, stopping as well. Dean was yet again taken aback by how _tiny_ he was. Clearly the gene pool had been messed up with Sam's birth, and all of Ryan's height had been absorbed by his uncle.

"You can walk next to me, you know," he said.

The half-angel swallowed, looking uncertain for a split second before his face melded back into neutrality. Very Castiel-like. "It's because your legs are too damn long," Ryan said dryly.

"Oh, Dean said. He'd honestly been expecting a 'I do not understand' or 'What do you mean, Dean?'

_It had been weeks since the angel had contacted him. Three weeks and twenty nine days, to be precise. Dean had texted, called, even prayed like the needy girlfriend he was...and nothing. Radio silence. All he could think was 'Wow. Great fucking time to decide you  don't want me anymore, Cas.'_

_He didn't look at the silver ring sitting by his drawer, couldn't look at it._

_The time ticked over to the next day, announced it with an obnoxious beeping noise, and it had officially been one month since he'd last heard from Castiel, angel of the Lord. Guy who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. Guy he'd taken the virginity of. Guy he'd confessed his love to. He hadn't left his room today, too tired of what laid beyond it. He wasn't dumb, he could see the worried looks Sam gave him when he thought he wasn't looking, could even see a hint of pity in Gabriel's gold irises._

He missed Cas. He missed his _boyfriend._

Most of all, though, he wanted answers.

"Never mind," Dean muttered, turning back around to continue to the eye specialist.

Ryan fell into step next to him, a smile playing at his face.

###

If Sam hadn't been expecting Ryan and Dean to return yet, he certainly hadn't expected the loud boom from the door as something outside tried to break in. Gabriel had been sitting next to him, and he looked up nervously at the noise emanating from the door.

"What the hell is that?" He began to reach for his shotgun.

Gabriel stopped him, all the blood drained from his face.

"Mommy's home, Sam."


	6. Chapter 6

"No," Dean argued. "The green ones were better."

"Yeah, but my eyes are green. The aesthetics are off."

Dean harrumphed at the half-angel and watched as Ryan unhurriedly returned to the rack of frames. He'd been extremely uncooperative with having an input into the kid's fashion choices in the first five minutes, but somehow with a shy smile and the way he lingered near the mirror and looked back at Dean questioningly, he was soon joining in with the choosing of the frames. He crossed his ankles and leaned forward as Ryan held up a pair of pink square-rimmed ones in his left hand and a pair of red ones in his right. The half-angel held them up to Dean absently.

Dean shook his head. "No. Red and green is for Christmas, pink and green is for watermelon. It ain't December, and we're all fruity enough without that."

Ryan shrugged and went back, wings fluffing up as he turned. It was...kind of cute, honestly. Dean didn't know how something so freaking adorable had come from _him_. Castiel, maybe. But his kid? Cute? It was just bizarre, to be completely honest.

"I don't know," the half-angel said, bringing Dean back to the present with a shrug. "I don't do fashion."

Dean's phone beeped, and he glanced down at it idly. Sam. He ignored it; it was father-son time and he certainly  wasn't missing out on any more of that.

To: Dean  
From: Sammy

_Cas is back_.

Dean stood up, stretching and ambled over to Ryan, who was looking around with a heavy sigh. He looked around the rack, ignoring the girl's ones the attendant had pointed them to, and to the oddly coloured ones Ryan was currently eyeing suspiciously. What he did look at was the men's section, and when he returned to Ryan and sat the plain black frames with the silver webbing on them into his son's fragile-looking hands, Ryan's smile could have blown up a planet.

"How the hell...?"

"Nothin' to do with hell," Dean said with a hint of pride. "Just call me Winchester, fashion guru."

His father would be rolling in his grave if he hadn't been cremated. Ryan approached the mirror hesitantly and set the frames on his face, pushing them up his nose. They filled his face, made him look less tired and hid some of the shadows underneath those bright, intelligent eyes.

"Good?"

"Good," Ryan agreed, expression of wonder on his face.

To: Dean  
From: Sammy

_Cas wants to take Ryan away again. He's not happy Dean_

"We'll take these ones," Dean said to the attendant, who nodded and took him to the register. He resolutely didn't look at the price tag. He didn't need to; it was worth it and wow, he was only ever like this with Sam.

_[1] Missed Call - Sammy_

They got in the car, Ryan chattering exitedly about keytar playing as he found a Metallica tape and pushed it into the player with a couple of delicate fingers. Dean didn't understand why you needed a keyboard and a guitar's lovechild, but he supposed it could be worse. Like, the kid could want to be a hornist. A _hornist_.

When he relayed this to Ryan, the half-angel smirked and said, "Oh, I know plenty about horns already, Dean."

He didn't know whether to be proud or sick at the thought.

"I always wanted to dye my hair a fucked-up colour," Ryan said to him absently, looking out the window.

"Like what? Green?"

"I was thinking blue, but yeah," he agreed.

"Mm," Dean said.

_[2] Missed Calls - Sammy_

"So where're your...uh...parents?"

Dean thought he was being rather subtle, but really, he wanted to know kind of desperately what had shaped his kid. He wanted to know that Ryan had a better life, a _normal_ life, outside of this. It would be far too unfair for him to have caught the Winchester curse. But Dean had seen the jagged edges of his wings, had seen the way he'd step away if someone got too close. Seen the flinching.

Ryan looked out the window again. "They weren't my parents."

"Nah?"

"Nah," he answered. "They weren't...it wasn't good, where I was."

Dean waited patiently, well, maybe not so patiently. "Why?"

"My step-parents, they were..."

_Selfish, abhorrent assholes?_

_Malignant pimples of the earth?_

_Ryan didn't know what to call them. Just like they didn't know what to call him. Abomination, monster, he'd heard it all. Confused, disturbed, unholy...it was all there. Ethel and Robert weren't the kindest people in the world, but they were all he had so he had to learn to deal with it._

"I was raised in a tiny-ass town in the Western corner of Australia, grew up largely in isolation. Literally, the population was maybe fifty people at the most, and most of them were old as hell. The town had what, two kids in it? I didn't meet them in those years I spent there. They didn't let me go to school. Or out the house at all, really. It was lonely."

_They'd left the music on outside the locked door again. Gentle waves of music reached his ears, someone yelling about being yourself and fighting for what you believe in. It was beautiful and broken and he loved it with all of his heart. But. What did he believe in? He didn't understand what he was supposed to fight for, when all there was is this room._

"They decided they were to name me the minute they laid hands on me. According to my adoptive father, my biological parent didn't wish to name me. They called me Rose. Rose Natalia Heatherdale. I hated the name from birth. It didn't feel right to me, you know? I mean, I liked Heatherdale, I guess, but that was it."

_"Your name is Rose and you are a girl!"_

_A plate shattered, shards hitting his thighs and hands as he tried to protect himself, crying out in pain and fear. He'd heard the word on the television a few days ago. Transgender. Where it didn't matter what was in your pants, rather, what was in your soul. He'd learnt it from the school they'd sent him to for a few weeks, learnt it from the blonde girl who had grabbed him and demanded they be friends._

"I went to school for a couple of weeks once, but they didn't like that I was being taught free will. They kept me locked up. When I was...very small, they kept me in a furnished room with a cot and old newspapers where there was a small television. The television taught me most of the things I know today. Those people certainly didn't teach me anything. I spent a few years in that room, and it was...simple. Not great, but simple."

_"Have you stopped being confused, Rose Natalia?"_

_"I'm not confused, Ethel."_

_"I do not know where this attitude has come from, abomination, but you will obey me, I am your mother!"_

_"No." I won't, and you're not._

"And then?"

"Then...I grew up, I guess. Started defying them. Television was my only friend, but Ethel had figured out it was what had taught me to read, to write, to have opinions and be a person in my own right, so she took it away. By then this body was about twelve, but it was still my mind. She locked me in the basement, but I'd had my taste of freedom."

_The room was cold. 'Basement,' they'd called it. Robert had chained him to the pipe by the wall despite his struggles and crying out, and Ethel had stood with her arms folded, as if to prove a point. In her hands were a pair of large scissors. Shears?_

" _This is what you get, you ungrateful wretch," Ethel had hissed before snapping one finger at a time with a heartbreaking crack and cry of pain._

_"_ She tried to beat me down, turn me into her obedient little soldier again. I didn't bend to her will very much. Kept telling me how much she wanted a pretty little daughter and how I'd ruined that for her. She didn't want a child, she wanted a robot. Or a doll. Instead, she got a survivor."

" _Ready to come back to reality, Rosie?"_

_"Ryan," he gritted out between his teeth as Ethel drove the knife further into the palm of his hand. The wounds didn't heal, just sterilized themselves against infection and stopped bleeding almost immediately. He closed his eyes against the tears of pain and tried to bite the witch when she got too close._

_"You'll break," she said confidently._

"But I didn't. 

"I spent the better part of a year being tortured. It was always Ethel, never Robert, but he was just as bad for allowing it to go on. Then she figured out what would actually hurt me."

" _Monster," she acknowledged._

_"Yes, you are," he shot back, ignoring the trickle of blood down his chin._

_She'd brought the garden shears again, clacking them menacingly as she approached. Robert was standing in the doorway, letting a tiny sliver of daylight into the room. He was too tired to be scared, too used to the pain. If only his indecision involving his wife didn't get in the way of his morals._

_"Have I got a gift for you," Ethel said gleefully. "You know those pretty little wings you have?"_

_A chill ran down his spine._

_"_ She tried to cut them off completely, but apparently you can't just slice 'em off because they're like, ethereal and shit. Problem was, even cutting off the tiniest feather was painful. Like someone was cutting into my soul and ripping chunks out. I was in agony."

"Shit," Dean said in sympathy.

Ryan turned to him with those green eyes and Dean looked back, and for a split second he looked far older than seventeen. Ancient, almost. He felt like he was looking into the face of a tired God who'd grown sick of humanity and its flaws. Dean had only seen that look on two other people before, and one of those had been Death and the other was an Archangel.

"Yeah. Shit."

"So how did you-"

Dean's phone pinged again. "Ugh, would you mind answering that? Sam's probably busting a gut."

"Sure," Ryan said easily, reaching for the device and unlocking it with a few clicks. Then he went completely silent. Like, Dean couldn't even hear him breathing anymore. He turned worriedly and was greeted with the sight of all the blood draining out of Ryan's face slowly, leaving him pale.

"What? What is it?"

"I..."

"Is Sammy okay?"

"Yes, I just..."

Sam was fine, that was good at least. Dean waited, and Ryan let out a long breath that sounded wobbly and full of tears. If it wasn't a problem with Sam, then it was probably...

"I think I'm being deported."

"You mean...?"

"Castiel wants to take me away."

"No, no, you can't," Dean said in a rush. "That's not fair, he's being an asshole. No."

"Why is he...?"

Dean pulled over onto the side of the road and turned to Ryan Winchester, turned to his _son_ who was looking at him worriedly with those green eyes and that ridiculous bedhair, and took in a deep breath.

"So, here's the thing."

###

"Cas, you need to calm down," Sam said urgently as the lights in the bunker burst out in shards of glass. Dark blue eyes turned to him, chillingly dangerous, and he had to struggle not to back away almost immediately. He thought they'd been over Castiel being this higher, wrathful angel but clearly they'd been wrong. This was a whole other side of him- he'd seen a Godlike Castiel, a Leviathan Castiel, a demon Castiel, but he'd never seen this kind of rage, ever.

Castiel was not happy.

Like, not happy at all.

"Where. Is. My. Son," he gritted out.

"Dean went to get him glasses, he's fine, it's okay," Sam said hurriedly.

Suddenly, Castiel was right in his face and Sam nearly fell on his face from shock. "Dean is _here_? Does he, does he know-"

"Does Dean know what?"

Castiel's eyes went wide, a nervous glow of white starting to shine around the edges. Sam let out a tiny breath and took a step back, nearly bumping into Gabriel. The Archangel linked his hand with Sam's quietly and squeezed, hard. Comfortingly. Sam squeezed back tightly, backing away. This wasn't their conversation to have, and Gabriel quietly led him down the hall as Castiel slowly came out of his mind.

Castiel turned with what looked like honest-to-God fear on his pale face and came face-to-face with the sight of two generations of Winchester, and two generations of accusing green eyes and folded arms. The similarities were even more striking like this, Ryan's hurt posture and slight back bend perfectly mirroring Dean's, and their eyes. Little flickers of silver and green, bright and accusing. Soft, layered shirts and unforgiving steelcap boots. Messy hair, one dark and one light.

They looked ridiculously beautiful together, Ryan's petite figure complimenting Dean's more solid one, the 5'3" height to the much taller 6'2". The flannel shirts, Dean's in grey and Ryan's in black and purple. The boots, the curve of the lip, the power behind the hips. The _way_ they stood together, like they were opposite sides of the same old five-cent piece. Ryan's skin was a shade lighter, his eyes and hair and clothes a shade darker and it reflected Dean in a peculiar way.

"Cas, do you have something to tell me?"

Castiel swallowed hard.

Ryan didn't say a word.

"So, Cas, what is it? You wouldn't happen to be hiding something, would you?"

"Dean, I..."

Dean's face softened fractionally, his lips tugging down from their previous straight line. He slumped a little, like he was sad or tired or something, and Castiel watched as Ryan shot him a concerned look. His heart plummeted to his feet as their son shifted an inch closer to Dean almost protectively. Because they've bonded already, he should've known this would happen because they were _Winchesters_ and they would bond tighter than steel and die to protect each other no matter how frightened they might be.

Which was exactly the problem.

Castiel straightened slightly, set his dark gaze on his son. "Ryan. We're leaving. Now."

"What?" Dean interrupted, his wide, hurt eyes on Castiel. "Why? Why are you doing this, Cas, he's my _kid-"_

"Ryan. Come here."

Ryan didn't say anything, round distressed eyes flickering from the determined look on Castiel's face and the anguished one on Dean's. He shifted on his feet, looked absolutely terrified and it wasn't fair to make him go but Castiel really didn't care at this point. He needed Ryan to leave, to get away from them.

" _Ryan."_

"Cas, please-"

"Ryan, get _the fuck over here!"_

The half-angel flinched visibly, almost hiding behind Dean as he did so with fright from the yelling and Castiel didn't understand. Dean straightened a little, fire in his eyes as he stood almost protectively. Castiel realised faintly that he'd scared Ryan when he raised his voice, but he didn't care, implored to his small son as he approached with his arms out.

"I found a boarding school in Spain for transgender individuals, it'll be good for you, you'll be safe there. There's free surgery, free hormones, and no monsters."

"And no us?"

Castiel gave Dean a withering look and grabbed for Ryan's thin wrist, pulling the half-angel to him. Ryan stumbled and nearly fell with the force of the motion, eyes still wide and confused.

Dean nearly snarled at the action, fiercely worried about this tiny little angel son he had even though they'd met for a couple of days. Ryan Winchester wasn't Castiel's toy, he was a real person; one who forgot to take off his chest binder at night and wore too much eyeliner and liked bad emo bands and keytar. He went outside to play in the fallen leaves and didn't clean his wings and he had been horribly abused and come out of it alive. And he was scared, like, nearly all the time and he liked pie and was a complete dork and Dean loved him already.

"Castiel, I'm not going with you," Ryan said flatly, pulling his wrist away.

"...Ryan, this isn't-"

"What? It isn't my choice?"

"You don't _understand,_ if you stay here you'll-"

Dean had seen the parts of Castiel shining through Ryan before, parts of him, but he'd never seen this gentle, kind of scared demeanor from either of them, he'd seen it in Sam. Ryan folded his hands together and sat them in his lap, meeting Castiel's desperate look with a gentle one of his own.

"Castiel," Ryan repeated. "Why are you so scared?"

"You're going to die if you stay here," Castiel answered. "I won't allow it."

"Castiel, I need you to tell me why."

"Because you're a _Winchester_ ," he spat out. "I've stayed by them for years, and they die and get tortured beyond recognition and hurt each other in the name of family and love and I'm _sick_ of watching it happen!"

The shocked looks on both Dean and Ryan's faces were mirror images.

"Cas...is that...is that why you _left_? Why you abandoned me?"

Castiel slumped, didn't meet Dean's eyes. "I'm not letting you turn Ryan into a martyr like everyone else you interact with."

"Cas, you should have, I thought we were- did you lie when you told me you loved me?"

"What- no," he said before he thought about whether lying would have been better.

"I think you two need to work this out, yeah," Ryan commented, "so maybe you should stay as well, Castiel."

"I can't-"

"Oh, yes you can," Ryan said, with his wings fluffing in the air as the bunker door slammed shut.

Castiel's eyes widened.

"I'm staying, you're staying, we'll go pick up my glasses later," Ryan said quietly, clapping a tiny hand to Castiel's shoulder.

"I..." he started.

"Talk to Dean," the half-angel ordered, before he walked out, just like that.

"Looks like he's staying."

"Seems he is," Castiel said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Dean chanced a sideways look at the angel and he didn't look angry or distressed anymore, maybe a little confused, but Dean could work with that. And so could Ryan, because Dean was going to do his best to guve the kid both parents, even if Cas was distant and hurting where he couldn't fix, they'd work it out.

"...Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"Did you mean it when you said you still loved me?"

"...unfortunately."

And that would have to do for now, and Dean couldn't find room to complain because he had his brother, his son and his sort-of boyfriend, and it didn't matter if there was an apocalypse because they could handle it. They were Winchesters.

"Come on, we've got parenting to do."


	7. Epilogue

"How may I help you, little girl? Do you have a deal for me?"

The girl didn't say anything. She was young-looking, maybe eight or nine, with ridiculously long golden-brown hair shaded by the dim light and a hood covering half of her face. It should've been obvious that it was a trap, but children's souls were pure and delicious and the demon just couldn't resist the summon. He looked at the ID. _Chrissie, huh._ She didn't look much like a Chrissie. Maybe a Gabrielle or a Samantha.

The crossroads demon let his sharp, pure white teeth show in a macabre grin and the small girl mirrored it back at him creepily, forebodingly, the shadows of gold wings playing on the unforgiving cement in his eyeline. And oh, that wasn't good, wasn't good at all. He tried to back away, but he couldn't move at all; it was far too late for escape now. He'd forgotten the rumours, forgotten the tale that there were new hunters, ones that weren't altogether _human-_

The demon snarled the minute his dark eyes landed on the shock of blue hair rounding a tree in the darkness, the glitter of delicate silver wings. " _Wincheste_ r."

"That's me, don't wear it out," Ryan said cheerfully as he ran him through with a sword in one quick, easy thrust. His wings, now fully grown and sleek, settled against his back, reflecting the moonlight against his features and making him look even more _other_. The demon sputtered up at him once, twice, then went still. Ryan looked largely unaffected by it.

He turned slightly to eye the girl, the green of his eyes showing slight rings of white that were mirrored in his cousin's as she hopped over to him. She'd inherited the weird family curse Sam had given to her and was already crossing five feet tall, and Ryan thought dismally that she'd probably be passing him in height by the next year. Little shit.

"You alright there, Chrissie?"

The girl pouted at the young man. "That sucked. I want McDonald's."

Ryan snickered. "Your dad would kill me if he was still around, kid. You're supposed to eat vegetables."

"Is that a yes? Come _on,_ Ry-Ry."

"Yeah, it's a yes," he said easily. "Come on, angel."

Chrissie dropped her coat to the ground and let her wings flare out with a happy noise, and Ryan took a moment to admire the flickers of gold in the two pairs of feathered limbs. Half-Archangels got an extra set, which he was a little envious of. Chrissie had become a sort of parting gift from Gabriel and Sam, because of course an Archangel could change vessels (and their genitalia) whenever he wished. Ryan had become Christina Gabrielle Winchester's guardian a few months after she'd been born, and he didn't regret it for a second, even if he did regret not having the older Winchesters to share this tiny spark of life with.

He missed all of them still; Sam, Dean, Gabriel, even Castiel, but this was the life they led, after all.

Sacrifices were made.

It was part of being a Winchester.

"Let's go," Ryan said, turning on the music player in the Impala and letting the music rise. Chrissie hopped in the passenger seat and stuck a lollipop in her mouth (she'd started summoning things a month ago, but all she ever got was candy. Somehow, Ryan wasn't surprised), and he pushed in a tape.

"Tell me the story about Daddy and Uncle Dean," she ordered.

Ryan laughed. "Again? This is the third time this week, Chrissie."

"Yes."

"Well, Sam, your Dad, was at a place called Stanford University, studying to become a lawyer, when he heard someone in his living room. And when he attacked them, thinking it was a robber, it was your Uncle Dean."

"He said, 'Dad's been on a hunting trip, and he hasn't returned in a couple of days...'"


End file.
